


Carpe Diem

by tersa (alix)



Series: Mass Effect:Carpe Diem [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, First Time, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:14:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alix/pseuds/tersa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Cortez still mourns the loss of his husband, Robert, but then meets Commander Shepard--a man who he is attracted to--and wrestles with reconciling his ghosts with the living man in front of him.</p><p>Another series of related short fics (some of them previously published in my drabble collection) about a single pairing--Steve Cortez and a male Shepard--paralleling ME3 game events and trying to bridge some of the gaps in their romantic relationship to better explain (in my mind, at least) how Cortez goes from his friendship arc of Act I to being ready for a romantic relationship in Act II. Organized in story chronological rather than as written order.</p><p>(Updated 31-Jan-2015:<br/>Ch 5, "Memorial Wall", Cortez, m!Shepard, PG, developing relationship<br/>Ch 6, "Today is What Matters", Cortez/M!Shepard, Explicit, first time</p><p>(ETA: Change in plans. Finished this collection off, and the final fic relating to this series will get posted as its own entry. Coming soon!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bromance

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly about Cortez, but the basis for this Shepard is a Paragon Spacer/War Hero.
> 
> For a previous fic that inspired this world state, see "[The Burden of Command](http://archiveofourown.org/works/294156)".

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written as part of my 2012 "31 Days of Ficmas" offering, from this prompt:
> 
> "Steve & James - Steve's having a bad "Robert" day, and James doesn't quite know how to deal, so after several other things fail, he offers up the Cuervo. (Or something. Just the idea of him failing at being the emotional support guy when his BFF needs it, and Steve 'getting' that booze or whatever is how James helps. You get the idea.)"
> 
> This doesn't quite fit the description, but it did insert itself into a scenario of an eventual Steve/BroShep romance, so I decided to make it headcanon and post it as part of this collection.

It was the downtimes that were the worst. For his own part, James was content, if not entirely _happy_ , to keep himself busy in the makeshift gym set up in the _Normandy_ ’s cargo hold after he’d exhausted what he could do to maintain the growing complement of weapons stored in the ship’s armory. He’d fallen easily into a routine with Steve over that, the two of them working in companionable silence or the occasional discussion about the latest news or their missions, but then he’d drift off to work on the shuttles, and that’s when the brooding would start. Even James could see it, that proverbial black cloud. The worst is when the recording would come out—it had startled James, the first time Steve had played it while working, and he’d grown increasingly uncomfortable as he started hearing it more and more often.

“C’mon, man,” James cajoled. “Come dance with me.”

Steve flashed him a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not my type, Mr. Vega. Enjoy some alone time with the punching bag, I think it’s more your speed.”

“Oooo, ouch. You know it’s not, though, I could use a real person on the other end.”

“Some other time.”

The next night, as they headed for mess, James elbowed Steve while they waited for the lift. “We’re getting a poker game going tonight. You should come join us, give me a chance to clean out your wallet.”

Steve shook his head. “Got to get my sleep. We’ll hit Sanctum tomorrow, and I need to be sharp.”

Sanctum _had_ been hairy, with Cerberus swarming the only landing spot big enough to park the shuttle, and it had been a near thing escaping with the data Admiral Hackett had requested. This time, James draped an armored arm weightily across Steve’s shoulders as they disembarked into the cargo hold. “That was some fine flying, amigo. Drinks are on me tonight. I insist,” he added before Steve could protest.

Bleary eyed, it was with dismay that James stumbled into the armory the next day to hear Robert’s pleading voice from Steve’s station. Again. Earlier than usual. Something in James snapped, and after tromping past in noisy pique, he thumbed open an internal comm on his side of the bay. “Sarah, is Shepard there?”

“My name’s Samantha, Lieutenant,” Traynor’s voice said with weary aggravation.

“I like Sarah better,” he explained for the twentieth time. “Is he?”

“He’s in a briefing with Admiral Hackett. Is this an emergency?”

Throwing a glance over at Steve hunched over his terminal, James said, forcing lightness into his tone, “Nah. But ask him, if he gets a chance, to come down and talk to Esteban. I’m failing this touchy-feely shit.”

Watching covertly from his work bench as Shepard talked to Steve, seeing Steve's shoulders square with resolve and the tension ebbing from his posture, James began to feel smug. And when Shepard clapped Steve on the shoulder, eliciting a grin out of him, James congratulated himself on the best idea ever in the history of friendship.


	2. Bromance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Act I, after Shepard catches Cortez listening to Robert's recording but prior to the shore leave encounter on the Citadel.

Shepard found him in Starboard Obs, caught him staring out the window into the black depths of space although he wasn’t really _looking_ into the void, focused instead inwards.

“Lieutenant,” Shepard said, breaking into Steve’s reverie.

Steve snapped his attention back to the here and now, turning his head to look over his shoulder at Shepard’s approach. “Commander, sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“As you were, Cortez,” he said easily, coming up to stand beside where Steve sat with one leg up so the ankle rested on the opposite knee.

He considered dropping his foot back to the ground, feeling self-conscious around Shepard since being caught in a moment of weakness in the shuttle bay. But something about Shepard’s demeanor suggested the informality was…acceptable, and so Steve stayed as he was, waiting to see if Shepard would continue.

Shepard did. “I was hoping to find you. I wanted to apologize.”

“For what, Commander?” Steve asked, while his mind raced through their short acquaintance for a reason Shepard would _need_ to apologize and came up empty.

“For the other day. For…intruding on that moment.”

Sourness twisted Steve’s mouth briefly and he said in a rush. “I should be apologizing to you. I shouldn’t have done that on duty. It won’t happen again.”

Shepard sniffed, throwing a sidelong look at Steve that inexplicably caused his breath to catch for some quality to it. The look passed, out to the starfield in the window, and Shepard shifted on his feet uncomfortably. “Also, because I wanted to say I’m sorry for what happened.”

“Why?” Steve blurted out.

Hs eyes drifting down to his boots, Shepard said, “Because I wasn’t able to stop the Collectors in time. Maybe if I’d been faster, done more, I could have…saved Robert for you.”

The idea struck Steve like a blow, constricting his chest so that it was hard to breathe for a second. He hadn’t thought of that, of Shepard’s connection with Cerberus and those wild stories that he’d gone after the Collectors…he gulped a breath and closed his eyes, feeling the same upwelling of emotion threatening to overcome him once more, and he bit his lip, vowing he wouldn’t repeat the scene.

“I—I’m sorry,” Shepard said again, awkwardness in his tone and the tension between them. Steve jumped when he felt Shepard’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing…and perhaps lingering a little longer than it should have, before it withdrew and, with it, Shepard, leaving Steve to struggle with the tangled emotions of wondering if he should blame a man he might be interested for the loss he felt such grief over.


	3. Shore Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An addendum to the scene when Cortez takes shore leave on the Citadel at Shepard's behest, Shepard opens up about the loss in his own life, and they share a tentative bonding moment.

Steve stood in companionable silence with Shepard, watching the ships swirl in controlled chaos through the traffic lanes of the Citadel’s docking rings and mulling it over. _”They leave mementos of lost loved ones. I was thinking maybe--_

_“What’s stopping you?”_

What _was_ stopping him? Robert had died almost a year ago. Steve missed him, would _always_ miss him, but...life moved on. The war was proof of that, if nothing else. The Collectors hitting Ferris Fields had been a mere skirmish compared to the staggering losses now, whole systems going dark as the Reapers steadily and relentlessly rolled through the galaxy. There wasn’t a single person in all this who hadn’t lost a friend, a loved one, family, a child, and yet they survived, just like Shepard had said.

Knowing that didn’t assuage the hole in Steve’s soul.

“I lost someone, too.”

Steve startled when Shepard broke the silence, as much for the fact as what he said, the latter, though, bringing his head around to glance sidelong at Shepard.

He was leaning against the railing, gaze fixed on the false blue sky and the moving lines of ships, not looking over as he went on. “Her name was Ashley. I can’t even _pretend_ that her loss compares to how you felt for Robert, but--she died under my command.” His grip on the rail tightened. “We made promises of ‘after the war’, ‘later’, promises that never came, because there was never an ‘after’ for her, and a few months later, _I_ died.”

Uncertainty threatened to swamp Steve in the wake of Shepard’s admission. “I heard about that,” he said, because he had to say _something_ , but looked away, out to the safety of the view. More than anything, he felt a wave of regret--a woman.

If Shepard noticed Steve’s confusion, he didn’t let on. “Everyone seems to forget that I was...out of it...for two years. Everything--all this--feels like only a few months, maybe a little over a year. All I’ve been doing is fighting the Reapers all that time, except when I was sitting in a detention center.” Pushing himself out of his lean, he straightened and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “I’ve never had time to grieve.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, because that’s what you were supposed to say. But his thoughts were in a tailspin, trying to process what Shepard was telling him.

“I just--“ Shepard cut himself off, silent long enough that Steve looked at him again, catching the wistful melancholy in Shepard’s expression. The longing there made Steve want to reach out to him, to clap a hand on his shoulder and let it linger there in commisserating support...but he held back. “I always thought there’d be time--later, to find someone.” He turned finally to meet Steve’s gaze, and Steve felt warmth creep up his neck at the sudden intensity of it. “I know you miss Robert, but I hope you remember to be grateful for the time you did have with him. You’re lucky. He was lucky, to have you.”

“I am,” Steve said, floundering at the emotion that was bubbling up in him, not unfamiliar, but it had been a long time since he’d wanted someone, and he felt guilty for feeling that way. He added in a stammer, “I do. Feel grateful.”

“Good,” Shepard said softly, then squared his shoulders. “I’m going to head back to the ship. I’ll see you aboard.”

“Aye, aye, Commander. And Shepard--“ Shepard paused and looked at him, making Steve thankful his dark skin hid the blush. “Your suggestion to come out here was a good one. I needed this.”

A smile creased Shepard’s face, easing away some of the worry lines that had etched themselves into his skin in recent weeks. “Anytime, Lieutenant.”


	4. Darkest Hour of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In one of those quiet moments in the small hours of the morning where questions get asked and truths shared that would never be voiced in the light of day, Steve asks Shepard something no one else can answer for him.
> 
> Set loosely between Priority:Tuchanka and the Cerberus coup.

Steve walked into the starboard observation area expecting it to be deserted. It was nearing midnight according to the Earth-synced ship’s chronometer, most of the crewmen not making up the skeleton night shift in their bunks or winding down in a poker game with Vega and Joker in the portside lounge. He’d made a habit the nights he wasn’t drinking with Vega to take these few minutes before turning in with the starry view and a cup of tea--they could still get chamomile from the Citadel’s hydroponic greenhouses, although Joker was getting cranky by how low the coffee rations were getting.

Shepard being there shouldn’t have taken him by surprise, but it brought Steve up short.

Head turning at Steve’s entrance, Shepard called out a quiet, “Hey.”

“Commander—Shepard,” Steve corrected himself, tripping over his tongue. It had been several weeks since Shepard had started opening up to him, after the brief encounter on the Citadel during Steve’s first shore leave at the Citadel, but it was still hard to call him anything but ‘Commander’—out loud at least. ‘Shepard’ implied acknowledgement of a familiarity that Steve wasn’t sure he was ready to confess to himself, no matter how often Shepard quietly insisted on it. Berating himself for the mental tangent, Steve added, “I didn’t think anyone would be in here.”

“Neither did I.”

It wasn’t a dismissal, Shepard watching him over his shoulder, but neither was it precisely an invitation to stay. Addressing it directly, Steve said, “I can go, if you’d prefer.”

“It’s okay. You can stay, if you like. I…wouldn’t mind the company.”

Something in Shepard’s tone made Steve think it had cost him to say it. The realization struck Steve how rare it was to see Shepard interacting off-duty with the rest of the crew. Shepard took meals with them in the mess, generally with whatever officers were there or Liara, but other times, he was simply...absent.

It painted the time Shepard sought him out to talk in stark relief.

With this sudden insight, Steve closed the distance to join Shepard on the bench-like seat facing the large window looking out into space. “I didn’t want to interrupt,” he ventured.

“It’s welcome,” Shepard said with a sigh, shifting in his seat to find a new position. “I’ve been thinking about what happened on Tuchanka.”

“With Dr. Solus?” Steve guessed.

Shepard’s chin dipped, his eyes dropping to the hands folded loosely in his lap. “What he did was necessary, but it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“And you’re taking it personally,” Steve hazarded.

He knew--or thought he knew--Shepard well enough to infer that by now. Talking about Williams had been the first, but not the last time Shepard had shared anecdotes about his life since Sovereign had appeared in the galaxy, and the complex blend of pain, sorrow, and frustration when Shepard talked about the crewmembers lost when he’d led the mission through the Omega-4 relay against the Collector base had told Steve more than Shepard perhaps intended. It had been hard, at first, to hear those stories, feeling an irrational grief that Shepard could have, _should_ have been able to prevent the attack on Ferris Fields, but the more he’d learned, Steve had realized it had been a petty thought. He had made his peace with it knowing Shepard had done everything he could to end the threat and prevent even greater damage than had occurred.

Shepard spread his hands out palm out in a brief, helpless gesturess, then let them fall back to his thighs. “No, not really,” he said, but Steve thought he was lying, to himself if not deliberately to Steve. “I understand why Mordin felt like it had to be him. I regret the sacrifice, though. There should have been some way to prevent it.”

“It didn’t sound like there was. You can’t beat yourself up over it,” Steve urged softly.

“If not me, then who else?”

“I hear the salarian dalatrass would volunteer for that duty.”

A corner of Shepard’s mouth twitched up into a smile before saying, “Chen or Oganubo talk too much.”

It was good to see him smile. Steve felt his own grin turn up. “What else is there to do in our downtime, outside of reading or losing our paychecks to Vega?”

“Good point,” Shepard observed, but sighed. “How far _has_ that story gone?”

“Don’t worry about it, C--Shepard. None of us will repeat it off the ship.”

Shepard nodded absently, falling into a silence that, to Steve, turned awkward. Desperate to fill the void, a thought he’d been trying to suppress popped to the surface, bobbing there in maddening temptation. It wasn’t a new thought, but every other time he’d considered asking it, it had never felt like a good time. Here, now, the quiet moments at the end of the day, that dark hour when it seemed most right to shine light on deeply buried truths...after a few moments resistance, Steve sounded a concessionary sigh. “Shepard, can I ask you a personal question?” He hadn’t even tripped over the name this time, but he filed that away to be examined later.

Curiosity brought Shepard’s gaze up to Steve’s, an eyebrow lifting. “What’s on your mind, Steve?”

He also shoved aside the little thrill he had in reaction to Shepard using his given name, composing himself before responding. “You’ve told me a lot about what’s happened to you the last three years, but there’s one thing you’ve never talked about.” This was a _terrible_ idea, Steve suddenly thought, but felt committed now that he’d started. Bracing himself, he asked, “What was it like to die?”

Shepard’s eyes widened, his spine straightened, and he leaned markedly away at the question. Chagrin washed through Steve, and he blurted out, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything, forge--“

“No,” Shepard cut through the apology, then repeated less forcefully, “No. You just--it’s been a year, and no one’s asked that.”

“Really?”

Shepard sniffed a sharp laugh, wonderment crossing his expression. “Really.”

Waiting a moment and Shepard not going on, Steve said cautiously, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Just say so, and I won’t mention it again.”

“No,” Shepard said again. “It’s just--do you want to know because of me? Or because of Robert?”

The question hit Steve like a blow with a flash of guilt, making him regret having asked. But the way Shepard looked at him, he felt he could be honest. “Both, I guess.”

Nodding in acknowledgement, Steve saw a flash of hurt before something shuttered in Shepard’s eyes and mourned having caused it. Then Shepard began in a low-pitched but matter of fact voice, “I got blown out of the _Normandy_ by an explosion. Somewhere in there, I think my airlines got cut. I ran out of air a lot sooner than I should have. It was like being at altitude, and just not being able to catch a breath. I was on the edge of blacking out when the heat started. I must’ve hit re-entry. The pain was--” The sound of his breath being dragged in deeply was noisy, even over the background hiss of the life support unit, and Steve watched Shepard fold in on himself, sinking back into the couch and wrapping his arms around his chest. “Next thing I remember was a bright white light, voices, and the face of a beautiful woman.” He went silent, leaving Steve waiting for him to continue, and when he didn’t, Steve leaned forward expectantly. The motion brought Shepard’s eyes around again, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, and a sly little smile ghosted across his lips. “It was the project lead of the Cerberus cell that revived me. I met her later when I woke up from whatever state they kept me in while bringing me back.”

Recognizing the subtle tug on his chain, Steve smiled briefly to acknowledge the gibe had hit then faded back into seriousness. “That’s it? Nothing else?”

“That’s it, he asks.” Shepard blew air through his nose in a raspy snort. “I get brought back from being meat in a suit, and people _still_ expect more...”

“Shit,” Steve exclaimed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--“

“I’m teasing, Steve,” Shepard interrupted in a dry voice. “Mostly.” He sobered and met Steve’s eyes squarely. “That’s it. That’s all I can remember. I’m sorry. I suspect you’re looking for some kind of answers, but I don’t have any. I...I’m not even sure it’s really me that came back.”

Steve blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”

“I’m pretty sure from what everyone’s told me, I was dead. Dead dead. How could I have come back from that? People don’t come back from ‘dead’. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe that’s what all the implants are for, maybe a different kind of AI.”

The conversation had veered well past where Steve had expected it to go, and he felt like he’d been caught in a downdraft threatening to smash him into the ground. “Wouldn’t--wouldn’t EDI know if you were an AI?” he grasped at straws.

“EDI,” Shepard said, eyes going towards the ceiling, “would you know if I was an AI?”

“The answer to that is unknown, Shepard,” EDI replied promptly. “I have no record of that in the files on the Lazarus Project available in my database. Although unlikely Miss Lawson would omit such a pertinent fact from her extremely detailed reports, it is possible that it was deliberately excluded for reasons of project security.”

“See?”

Steve grimaced. “I’m sorry, Shepard,” he said, because it was expected, but added, “But if you’re an AI, you’re a damn sight better one than EDI. No offense, EDI.”

“None taken, Steve.”

“You _feel_ ,” Steve pressed on. “You understand other people’s feelings. You can’t be anything but a man. Human.” He felt his cheeks warm, veering perilously close to the bundle of nascent attraction he felt for Shepard that he was trying to ignore.

“Thanks, Steve,” Shepard said, sounding tired. “That means a lot to me.”

“Anytime, Shepard.” The urge to flee the dangerously charged atmosphere overcame him, and Steve pushed to his feet. “I should hit the sack. I need to get some sleep so I can be sharp tomorrow.”

“Right, of course,” Shepard said, rising as well. “I should probably head to bed myself. And Steve,” he said, waiting for Steve to pause in his flight to half turn back. “Thanks for staying and talking to me. I mean it.”

Despite himself and the warning bells ringing in his mind, Steve smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, Shepard.”


	5. Memorial Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set early in Act II, a re-write of the Memorial Wall scene grounded in the changes made by previous fics in this series.

Steve had sent the note to Shepard via the internal comm system because...he was afraid. Pure and simple. He had no _reason_ to be, the logical part of his mind told him. 

Ever since the _Normandy_ had left Earth, Shepard had expanded on Vega’s use of the shuttle bay as his personal gym to include practice with his biotics, coming down with Dr. T’soni on a regular basis to hone his skills. Steve enjoyed watching the display, marveling at getting to see up close and personal the same effects as powered his shuttles. Even when Liara didn’t show up, Shepard did, lingering afterwards to talk to Vega sometimes, Steve more frequently, as he worked on the shuttles or maintained the armory. Joker spent all his free time with EDI, Traynor with that newswoman, Allers, and Vega...well, Steve liked James, but he wasn’t always the sharpest tool in the box. Steve was no idiot, he knew Shepard’s time was precious, and yet every day, he was down talking to Steve about...nothing.

Or everything.

So he sent the message, asking Shepard if he would meet him at the Memorial Wall the next time they were at the Citadel; after how much the talks with Shepard had helped pull him through the last of his grief, he wanted Shepard to be there with him. What was _stupid_ was feeling the heart pounding, cotton-mouthed fear of rejection as he typed the message in, like he was asking Shepard out on a date instead of to say good-bye one last time to Robert. _Maybe you can do the same_ , he’d added on impulse. Maybe it wouldn’t make it so awkward.

As he stood before the wall, Steve felt the fear flash once more. Would he come?

“Are you okay?”

Shepard’s voice was almost gentle in its concern, and it gladdened Steve even as he felt a recurrence of guilt to be made glad by it. Time to bury the guilt as well, he thought, glancing at the recording tablet in his hands. “I’ve just been standing here, holding this for I don’t know how long. He’ll always be a part of me.”

“Your past is yours. No one can take that away.”

The words rang true, and for the first time in a long while, a fragile sense of peace settled on Steve. With a deep breath, he approached the wall and activated the message, hearing his late husband’s voice exhort him. _”Don’t make me an anchor. Promise me, Steve.”_ He had, though, for a very long time, and it had taken Shepard--his friendship, the unrequited thrill Steve felt being with him--to remember what it was like to be alive. To _live_

“Good-bye, Robert,” he said, placing the recording device on the wall.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Steve turned into it to see Shepard standing behind him. Grateful, Steve reached up to touch Shepard’s fingers. “You give me strength.”

Surprise set his pulse racing when Shepard didn’t pull away, allowing the contact to linger. “I don’t have anything to put up there.”

“For Ashley?” Steve asked out of a mouth gone dry.

Shepard nodded. “Everything I had was destroyed over Alchera. All I have are my memories.”

Tentatively, Steve squeezed Shepard’s fingers under his own, the lightest of pressures. “Don’t make her an anchor,” Steve said, calling on Robert’s long familiar words.

“Carpe diem, eh?” Shepard said with introspective bemusement.

“Something like that. Maybe,” Steve agreed, turning the words over in his mind.

“My parents used to say something to one another when one of them was being deployed. ‘Not one moment for granted’.” Shepard scanned the wall. “I don’t think I really understood it, until this war.”

Steve’s fingers still covered Shepard’s own, and he realized with increasing discomfort how much he wanted more and how wholly inappropriate a time and place it was to be feeling that. He dropped his hand quick and extricated himself from under Shepard’s hand, saying quickly, “Thank you. I...just need a few moments, to myself.”

“Of course,” Shepard said promptly, taking a step away and putting space between them. Steve could almost see the armor of his professionalism close in around him, making him ‘Commander’ and not just ‘Shepard’. “I should go.” He hesitated before leaving, though. “Are you going to be okay?”

Steve broke an involuntary smile. “Are you?”

Shepard’s smile in return brought a burst of pleasure to Steve. “Yeah. I think I am. I’ll see you back on the ship.”

“Will do...Shepard.”

He was looking forward to it.


	6. Today is What Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set early in Act II, some time after the previous chapter but before the main story events really begin away from the Citadel. Steve's POV of the date night at Purgatory, and the 'better night' that followed.
> 
> Rated: Explicit for sexytimes

It had been pure chance. The _Normandy_ had been docked at the Citadel for more than a week after Udina’s attempted coup, the necessary repairs to the ship slowed by the damage Cerberus had done during their attack and Shepard tied up with the bureaucracy of the Council, or Steve would have never run into his old fighter pilot buddies down in Zakera Ward while doing requisitions They were doing milk runs themselves, piloting the ships taking the krogan out to Palaven and stocking up on supplies before heading out, less than twenty-four hours and they were gone. If the coup hadn’t happened when it did, if Steve had been on any other ship, they would’ve missed each other.

Plans were made to meet up at Purgatory for drinks later.

On a brazen whim, Steve shot a message to Shepard through the internal comm system inviting him to join him.

 _Carpe diem_.

Not that it was any easier than asking Shepard to join him at the Memorial Wall, his heartbeat speeding up with that adrenaline rush of risk as he hit ‘Send’ on the message. It wasn’t as if a few days were enough to forget Robert--he’d never forget Robert--but he also couldn’t forget how he felt standing there with Shepard, the way their hands had touched and lingered from the comfort Shepard had given.

Shepard hadn’t pulled away.

Maybe Steve was crazy for even thinking this. His commanding officer, Shepard’s grief over Ashley, maybe he was reading too much into nothing. Maybe this was just a rebound on Steve’s part, crushing on the ‘safe’ guy. Maybe it was the seeming fragility of life, the scale at which the Reapers were winning, the sheer magnitude of the death toll. Maybe a little embarrassment was worth it for the chance to find a little happiness amidst all the bleak sadness.

But he hadn’t pulled away.

His buddies had come and gone, off to their racks for an early departure the next morning, and Steve had just about decided to head back to the _Normandy_ when he spied Shepard making his way through the crowd to the corner of the bar Steve had staked out. “Shepard!” he called out with a wave, giddy relief flooding through him. “You made it. Come have a drink with me.”

Making eye contact with the bartender, Shepard put in his order, and leaned an elbow against the bar. “You’re looking happy,” he observed drily.

Steve cracked a faint smile. “I decided you had it right. Yesterday can’t change. Tomorrow, we might all be dead.” He swirled his drink before meeting Shepard’s eyes. “Today is what matters. I’m not wasting it.”

Shepard looked away and said, “I wouldn’t have thought a club would be to your tastes.”

Steve’s hope faltered at the change of subject. Stung as well, he glanced out over the crowd and tried not to sound _too_ defensive as he said, “You don’t have to get all hot and bothered to appreciate graceful dancing. There’s an _energy_ here; there’s life!” Spying a man looking at Steve as he danced, Steve suddenly smiled, grateful that _someone_ was taking an interest in him if Shepard wasn’t. Spurred by pique, he added appreciatively, “Some of the eye candy in the crowd isn’t too shabby, either.”

“I’m hurt,” Shepard teased. “Why aren’t you looking over here?”

Which took Steve, already preparing to bury that flight of fancy, wholly off-guard. The smile he turned back to Shepard with was the one Robert had often chastised him for using, complaining he could never say no to it. With hope rekindled, in a low-pitched, seductive tone, he teased back, “Who said I’m not?” A corner of his mouth came up, turning the smile wry, even while his pulse quickened as he stepped out onto uncertain footing. “I hear a few ladies have shown interest. You haven’t bitten yet?”

Shepard shrugged and was looking at Steve _now_. “I haven’t had the right moment with the right man yet.”

Steve was very glad he hadn’t been drinking while Shepard said that; as it was, his mouth went dry. “Oh, really?” he replied, unable to come up with anything pithier in the moment and, wincing inside-- _seize the moment_ \--made up for it with, “Dance with me.”

“Not right now.”

Hope crashed once more, but...something about Shepard’s demeanor as Steve looked at him. It wasn’t a complete rebuff, just...hesitation? Maybe his own reservations? He gave it one last shot, cajoling, “C’mon, Shepard. Don’t let me slip away.”

For a moment, Steve thought he’d misstepped. Shepard stiffened and looked towards the dancers, the far away look suggesting he wasn’t looking _at_ them. Melancholy, as Steve had seen before, in those rare, unguarded moments in Starboard Obs, or when Shepard had told him about Ashley down on the docks. He turned back to the bar, sorry, now, to have asked, took a drink to cover his chagrin, and was about to laugh off the awkward moment when Shepard said, “If you insist.”

It wasn’t the most enthusiastic acceptance Steve had ever had, but he couldn’t back out now, not without making it worse.

Out on the dance floor, Steve kept his distance, moving to the beat and not quite meeting Shepard’s eyes, looking everywhere _except_ his eyes. Shepard was a terrible dancer, but the fact that he was out there, trying, was suddenly endearing. “It’s good to see you like this,” he ventured.

Shepard smiled faintly. “Relaxing?”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “I’m used to seeing you step off my shuttle right into hell.” Impulsively, he added, “And I wait and worry about whether you’ll make it back.”

In a low-pitched tone that made Steve have to lean in to hear, Shepard murmured, “I didn’t know you cared.”

“You’re our commander,” Steve tried to explain, feeling tangled up in the mixed signals Shepard was sending. _What the hell_ , he thought, he’d come this far, might as well go all in. “But--you’ve been there for me. You’re a good friend, Shepard.”

“I want to be more than just friends, Steve,” Shepard said in the same low-pitched tone.

Steve lost the rhythm of the music briefly at the shocked thrill those words brought him. Trying to recover, he said, “I thought I felt something between--“

 _Us_ , he finished in his head, because Shepard had stopped dancing, stepped forward, his hands coming to light gently at Steve’s waist, and was looking at Steve with half-lidded eyes, head tilted just so in a posture so unmistakable as invitation it could’ve been stamped and sealed. Feeling attraction, arousal, _lust_ burn through him with the sudden heat of an incendiary round, Steve leaned in and accepted the offer, his lips meeting Shepard’s for the first time, parting, just so, and feeling Shepard respond in kind, the tremble Steve felt through Shepard’s hands, enflaming him.

It was over too soon, Shepard pulling out of the kiss and leaving Steve, appetite whet, wanting more. It was an effort to open his eyes, less so to look at Shepard and smile, running his tongue tip across his upper lip. Letting out a breath, he said in understatement, “Today is a good day.”

Only to have Shepard take the breath away with, “Tonight will be better.”

The promise in it made Steve’s knees go a little weak. All he could come up with in response was, “I’m sure it could.”

They returned to the bar and drank, a toast Steve barely recalled, other than the flavor of optimism in it. Shepard left, after the drink, something else he had to attend to, but touched the back of Steve’s hand on the bar with his fingertips as he said, “I’ll see you back on the _Normandy_.”

“Definitely,” Steve said, anticipation a hot coal burning in his chest.

* * *

Shepard made good on the promise later that night. Steve felt light-headed, ebullient, after he got the call from Shepard asking Steve to come up to his cabin for a drink. Steve had gotten some grief from Vega for that, “Oh ho ho, drinks with the Commander, look who rates,” to which Steve had shot back, “Jealous, Mr. Vega?” grateful for the dark skin that hid his blush.

Outside Shepard’s cabin, Steve’s heart was thumping hard when Shepard answered the door chime, leather jacket shed to leave him barefoot in jeans and a t-shirt that clung in all the right places across his muscular chest. A cursory exchange of “Heys,” were made, but then Steve was crossing the threshold to pick-up where they left off on the dance floor as if there had been no time in between. This time, though, when Shepard broke the kiss after a much longer frame of time, it was to guide Steve to the couch, eyes glassy. Steve shot a longing look to the bed, only a few paces beyond, but then dismissed it, more than happy to settle into a seat next to Shepard that soon became less of a seat and more of a recline, twisting his body to pull Shepard down atop him.

Shepard’s inexperience was obvious to Steve, the way he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, the mistimed bumps and jostles, and it roused in Steve a fierce desire to give him the best experience Steve was capable of giving. Steve’s hands ran up and down Shepard’s back, plucking at his shirt until he could begin to pull it upwards, enough of a hint to Shepard to rise, balanced on one knee and one leg on the floor, to strip out of it. Before he dropped back down, Steve reached up and splayed his hands across Shepard’s chest, from the broad shoulders down the defined pecs, thumbs brushing his nipples, then lower, thumbs coming together as he skimmed like a butterfly down the ridges of abdominals to the waistband of his jeans. Looking upwards, meeting Shepard’s eyes, Steve popped the button with a practiced flick, then folded back the tab of cloth to find the zipper. Those toned abs moved in and out rapidly along with Shepard’s quickened breathing as Steve ticked the fastener down one slow tooth at a time over the hard bulge of Shepard’s cock, fingers grazing it through the fabric. Opened, Steve grabbed either side of the waistband and peeled it back with a purposeful shove, not quite baring Shepard’s groin, what with his straddling Steve, but exposing his underwear and the erection pressed into it.

Without touching it, Steve put his finger just above the top of the underwear, causing Shepard to jump and suck in a breath, then ran it upwards, through the fine trail of hair to Shepard’s navel, then past that, all the way to the hollow of Shepard’s throat, then farther, over the bobbing Adam’s apple, under the chin, over the point, to just under Shepard’s lower lip. A pause, and Steve touched the lip, just barely folding it down, but Shepard shuddered as if it had been something far more intimate. Release and again, and Shepard shivered, a pale echo of the previous reaction, but with a twitch at the corner of his mouth into a ghost of a smile, Shepard looked down at Steve and tilted his head, his mouth sliding down Steve’s finger to enclose it, and sucked. Steve’s reaction was immediate, strong, and electric, a groan escaping him as the sympathetic sensation burned its way down to his cock and his hips lifted from the couch to grind into Shepard’s ass, still astraddle him. Shepard’s hands came up to cup Steve’s hand, holding it there, and he continued to attend to the finger, his tongue moving against the underside, until Steve began to go a little fuzzy around the edges. “Stop,” he croaked.

Shepard did so at once. “Is something wrong?” he asked in a throaty, shaky voice.

“No,” Steve said, pushing reassurance into the word. He put the hand against Shepard’s cheek, tracing the high cheekbone with the ball of his thumb. “It’s very, very right. But if you keep doing that, this is going to be over too quickly.”

“Oh,” Shepard said, then cracked a smile. “I guess we wouldn’t want to have that.”

“Come here,” Steve said with a grin, slipping his hand from Shepard’s cheek to behind his neck, using the grip to pull Shepard back down into a kiss that nearly pushed him to lose control again. He held onto it, barely, and used the new position to grab the back of Shepard’s pants, pushing the loose waistband downward over his ass to begin what Steve had started with the front. Getting the hint, balancing with one hand sunk into the cushions of the couch, Shepard used the other one to help with the effort, pushing up to knees and toes to make the space to allow for the pants to go down. Steve helped with knees and calves, the friction of cloth on cloth pulling them down below Shepard’s knees so he could pull his legs free, kicking the pants aside. Shepard lowered himself once more, full length across Steve’s body, giving Steve free access to run his hands up and down Shepard’s back then lower, cupping the cheeks of Shepard’s ass through the remaining thin cloth and squeezing. Shepard’s groan was sweet music to Steve’s ears.

Shepard broke away, breathing heavily, glazed eyes meeting Steve’s. “How is it I’m down to only my skivvies and you’re still in all your clothes?”

A deep chuckle bubbled out of Steve’s chest. “I’m just that good?”

“We need to fix this,” Shepard stated, rolling onto one elbow towards the back of the couch to use his free hand to begin fumbling unsuccessfully with the fastenings on Steve’s BDUs.

“Here,” Steve said, scooching away from Shepard so he could lever himself up to a seated position. Shooting a smile at Shepard over his shoulder, he added, “Allow me.” He bent over, untying his boots with the added distraction of Shepard putting a hand on Steve’s back, moving up and down along Steve’s spine with a casual redolence. Boots off, socks followed, stuffed into the boots so as not to get lost--something Steve knew only too well was a possibility, he thought with a reminiscent smile. Rising to his feet, he stood, gaze fixed on Shepard’s face, and began the process of undressing without looking, facile with long practice. He made a deliberate show of it, unbuckling the fastenings, pulling the edges apart then down his shoulders, tossing the outer shell aside to the chair then grabbing the back of the undershirt and pulling it over his head, knowing the effect the reveal had from the avid way Shepard’s eyes left his to drink in the sight of his chest. Shepard’s eyes went lower when Steve’s hands dropped to his waist, repeating on himself what he’d done to Shepard, the slow unzipping, opening the fly wide, but then continuing the motion, down his thighs, bending to take it below his knees, then lifting each leg, one at a time, to step out of the pants and tossed them to join the shirt.

“All of it?” Shepard asked in a thick voice, and Steve sucked in a quick breath at the request. Obliging, he hooked his fingers on the elastic of his briefs and rolled them down until they could fall to the floor. He let them lay there, putting his arms out, elbows tucked against his waist in a framing pose that he knew would draw attention to his obvious erection.

“Better?”

“Almost,” Shepard said, rolling up into a seat and getting to his feet to approach Steve. He reached out to put his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve’s hands falling naturally to Shepard’s waist, and then closer, until their groins touched. Steve hissed a breath as the taut cloth of Shepard’s brief brushed against the bare skin of his shaft, then felt Shepard’s cock underneath it and pressed into it eagerly. Their chests came together, skin sticky with sweat despite the cool recirculated ship air, and their faces close. “There,” Shepard breathed. “Better.”

The kiss they fell into was explosive, a clash of lips and teeth and tongue as pent-up desire burst forth. It had been a long, long time since Steve had been with someone, a long time since he’d even _wanted_ someone other than Robert, and it was if all those days and weeks and months had built up until this sudden outlet of incipient release. In a haze of barely there control, Steve tugged on Shepard’s waist, pulling him back towards the bed, breaking away only long enough to throw the covers back and to reach for Shepard’s underwear, only to have Shepard get the idea and remove them himself. Steve sat on the bed, scooted himself back, and Shepard followed on hands and knees like iron to a magnet, until Steve stopped and pulled Shepard down atop him once more. They kissed again, Steve’s hands roaming across Shepard’s back and thighs, fingers finding the crack of Shepard’s ass and running up and down until Shepard arched his back, hips grinding hard into Steve’s.

With control on the verge of fraying, Steve nudged Shepard onto his side, off of Steve, and with one last kiss to his throat, pushed himself halfway down the length of the bed. There, in the dim light from the office area, Shepard’s cock was visible, thick, red, curving up from the dark thatch of public hair, moisture seeping from the tip. Steve loved that sight, the pre-cum, knowing how close a man, Shepard, was to orgasm and wanting to bring him to it.

With practiced ease, he twisted his wrist, bringing the palm of his hand to slide up the underside of Shepard’s cock in a gesture that brought the tip into Steve’s mouth, the pleasured sound Shepard made at the hand becoming surprised as Steve closed around it and slid it deeper in. He sucked, heard Shepard groan, the little tilt of Shepard’s hips into the blowjob, and his hand left Shepard’s dick to curve around, once again finding his ass crack and touching there. Shepard’s reaction was nearly violent, a gasping moan and sudden clenching of muscles as he thrust into Steve’s mouth, a motion Steve rode out, swallowing as Shepard worked himself deeper. Pulled off, then back in, and Shepard’s hips began the tiny, rhythmic rocking Steve knew all too well, exciting him, driving him. Steve groaned, the sound of it vibrating through Shepard’s shaft and like a trigger, he felt Shepard tense, a stuttering cry coming from him as he ejaculated, filling Steve’s mouth with his salty-sweet essence which he swallowed down. Removing his hand from Shepard’s ass, he reached down, between his own legs, and found his cock hard, aching, so close to ready, and stroked it, whimpering around Shepard’s shaft, still in his mouth, breathing hard through his nose, until he found the peak, gave a muffled cry, and came, the exhiliration a sweet, sweet thing.

Shepard pulled out of his mouth, and Steve dragged in a breath, more than happy to roll onto his back on Shepard’s soft bed and close his eyes. He was always fragile in those moments after orgasm, unable to tolerate the touch of his lover, and he needed those minutes to recover from the stripped raw sensation after release. Shepard, too, lay on his back, near but not touching, and Steve listened to his panting breaths slow and quiet. Only after his own breathing had recovered did Steve pull himself up the bed and turn his head to find Shepard looking at him, and he reached a hand over to meet Shepard’s halfway, fingers twining loosely. “Thank you,” he said in an undertone just this side of a whisper.

“Thank _you_ ,” Shepard said in return. “I--“ he stopped, seeming at a loss for words.

“Shhh, shh shh,” Steve shushed, going to his side both to get nearer Shepard and face him. “You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I want to,” Shepard said, hitching himself to an elbow to face Steve as well, affording Steve a full frontal view that he appreciated. Shepard’s manhood lay flaccid now on the down of hair, but no less sexy for it. “After--” He got a queer, embarrassed expression, then started over. “I’ve wanted this. To find someone, to _be_ with someone, but I never had. Until now. It almost doesn’t seem fair,” he went on, voice turning wistful. “That it would be now.” He took Steve’s hand again, looking at it rather than meeting Steve’s gaze. “I...can’t promise you I’ll be safe.”

A lump formed in Steve’s throat, and he felt tears unexpectedly prickle his eyes. “I know,” he said with difficulty.

“What I can promise,” Shepard said, fingers moving restlessly in and out of Steve’s, like a nervous caress, “is that when I come back, it’ll be back to you.”

Steve’s breath caught at the implications of that, but he tried to downplay it. He forced a chuckle. “No promises like that on the first date.”

“Is this a date?” Shepard asked with a wry curl of a smile. “Do you always fall into bed on your first date?”

The chuckle Steve gave the second time came naturally. “I’m not going to answer that, for reasons of self-incrimination,” he said in a low voice. He leaned forward and with a pause to flick his glance from Shepard’s mouth to his eyes, kissed him tenderly, fingers tightening on Shepard’s to accompany it. “And I promise I’ll keep dropping you off into hell, because I’m not going to let _anyone_ else but me be there to bring you out again.”

“Deal,” Shepard said, letting his head drop to the pillow. “Now what?”

Steve smiled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve done this,” Shepard said, a faint smile playing around his mouth. “Do you stay? Do you go? Oh, God, what would the crew think?” he asked with a faint groan.

Steve chuckled with a shadow of embarrassment to it. “The walk of shame. Not an uncommon thing, but it’s generally not with the captain of the ship.” He nestled his head into the other pillow to be on eye level with Shepard. “It’s up to you. I wouldn’t mind staying, but I’ll leave if you’d prefer. You’re the one with the image to uphold.”

“Stay,” Shepard blurted out after a few moments pause. “I’d like you to stay.”

“Good,” Steve said, reaching for the covers to pull them up over them both against the chill cabin air. “I was hoping you’d say that.”


	7. I know where you sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Cortez-Vega interaction, but it's rooted in an m!Shepard/Cortez pairing so I've moved it to include here.

Vega broke the companionable silence between them with a teasing snicker. “So, you and the Commander, huh?”

Without missing a beat, Steve said, “Yep.”

“Have to admit I’m a little jealous, Esteban. I thought you had eyes only for me. What does Loco think about that?”

“About what?”

“About _us_.”

Steve laughed. “Vega, there is no _us_.”

“Yeah, but if I told him there was, what would he say?”

“James…” Steve drawled out in exasperation. “Drop it. I know where you sleep.”

“Yeah, well, I know where you sleep, too.”

A smile quirked up a corner of Steve’s mouth at the little boy defiance in James’s tone. He teased, “Do you, now, Mr. Vega. Care to think about that?”

Vega’s brow furrowed in concentration for several seconds, then eased with a snap as his eyebrows went up. “Oh. Right.”


	8. Six shots in, he is hammered and doing stretches before each shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for an me_challenge@LJ Insanity Round fill, this isn't really about the pairing but it involves it, so I decided to add it here.
> 
> IDEK what this quote is supposed to mean, but this is where my brain went with it. XD

“Hey,” Shepard said, interrupting Steve from the spectacle he was keeping an eye on.

“Hey, yourself,” Steve responded with sly intimacy, slipping an arm around Shepard’s waist even as Shepard reciprocated. “Buy you a drink, sailor?”

“Sure,” Shepard agreed, but his tone was distracted, attention captured by what Steve had been watching. “What the hell is going on?”

“Ahhhh,” Steve intoned knowingly, turning back to look as well. In those scant seconds, Vega had managed to lose his pants in addition to his shirt, but still somehow managed to be wearing his boots, and was locked in an arm wrestling match with a turian. “The bartender managed to procure a bottle of actual tequila off one of the refugees.”

“Please,” Shepard said with pain in his voice, “say no more.”


	9. Thin line between heaven and here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for an me_challenge@LJ Insanity Fill, inspired by this very NSFW image that crossed my Tumblr dash:
> 
> http://cuddlingthecthulhu.tumblr.com/post/22986294163/clearly-my-blog-needs-more-dicks-and-less-text
> 
> Fill is also NSFW'ish.

In the darkest moments in the months after Robert’s death, Steve couldn’t even imagine feeling good again, much less _happy_. In love. Filled with that expanding warmth that started somewhere around the heart but billowed outwards, making his body feel too small and unable to contain all the joy.

In the darkest moments of the war, Steve felt that again, laying naked in Shepard’s bed beside him, a hand around his cock and Shepard’s open mouth on his, stealing his breath as he panted close to coming, and the exquisite moment of believing this was damn near perfection.


	10. What's keeping you awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drabble that started it all; set after their relationship is established but before the end game.

Shepard slept. It was the only time, anymore, that he seemed to relax, the furrows on his forehead not so deep, the tightness around the corners of his mouth eased. Care and worry and strain sloughed away in slumber, but no amount of rest could banish the dark crescents, like bruises, under Shepard’s eyes.

Steve studied him in the faint illumination from the light on Shepard’s desk (“I don’t like the dark”, Shepard joked with soft self-deprecation, but Steve had seen the real, primal fear lurking in his eyes when he’d said it and wondered at what secret of Shepard’s past had spawned it), knowing he should sleep as well, but couldn’t for the emotions clawing at his chest. Wondering which was worse: that the man he loved was forced by duty and honor and need into putting himself into mortal peril every day, or that he himself delivered him into it.


End file.
